George's Mercy
by Simply Prettyful
Summary: Two shot: George hadn't been the same since Lennie's death, tryning to isolate himself... but Mercy came along and had other ideas.
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N:**_** Recently, I studied Of Mice and Men for my year 10 English Literature exam. I found myself so imersed in George's character that I wanted to write a happy ending for him. And so, I thought how he'd given Lennie the mercy of being killed happily, and came up with Mercy. I then looked up the word 'good' in the theasaurus and chose Pleasant as a surname. And then decided that blue eyes were typical of an angel in young childrens drawings and made her a little more down-to-earth by giving her messy, brown curls. And so Mercy Pleasant became a character in my eyes. I had contemplated about writing a scene where George would relocate himself but decided I wanted to show a number of things in George meeting Mercy.**

**Enjoy!**

**(By the way, that exam was hard! It was worth it for 30% of my English GCSE though. I'm pretty sure I did better in the unseen poetry part, though.)**

_**George's Mercy**_

George had looked at his hads many times. But now, he couldn't. They were tools. Tools that led to Lennie's demise. Now his hands were always busy. In the cathouse, on the ranch, alone. He drew things with them. Visions of ranches with rabbits in hutches, a patch of alfafa, pigs, cows, goats, chickens, and an orchard of berries. The dream. He always named those pictures The Dream. But somewhere, there'd always be a spot he'd leave clean. A spot where the rancher was supposed to be.

Just south of Soledad, a rabbit skittered away from a bush, alerting life that something was coming. Birds left for highre branches or even flew away. A periscope-like snake was slithering over the waters surface like it was floating on air. Insects went silent and shifted away. The sun drooped lazily above the mountains and watched as a figure came down a trampled, dust road. The woman had a heart-shaped face that wore a pair of big, baby blue eyes. On her head, a mop of mussed, natural brown curls flew back slightly as she walked on. She wore a pair of denim work trousers and a baggy, orange shirt. She was plainly lost by the amount of times she looked up at the sun, trying to navigate. Finally, she came down to the brush.

"Who's there?" a harsh voice called out.

"Hello? Anybody here? I'm looking for the town," she called out. Her heart was thumping like a rabbits. She'd heard of crazy tales of tramps gone insane and killing innocent passers-by.

"It's not far from here," the voice replied.

"I'm Mercy," she called out. "Mercy Pleasant."

There was a harsh laugh. "Where were you when my friend died?"

"I-I'm sorry. Look, if you could just point me in the right direction, Mr-?" she said, her voice clear from emotions.

"Milton. George Milton," the voice said. A small man came into view. He was small, strong hands, dark of face and unresting eyes. His jaw was straight and his nose was defined. Mercy had never seen anyone look so restless in her life. "And it's that way."

He pointed in the direction of the town.

"But you look tired, Miss Mercy," George observed, his eyes rolling over her briefly. "You could come an' stay at the ranch where I work. Coarse, the boss'll have the last say."

Mercy shivered. She looked up at the sun and found it sinking behind the mountain.

"Gosh, that's purdy," Mercy smiled and covered her forehead as she looked, the shadow shading her eyes.

"Sure is," George nodded. He packed up the papers he held in his hands. Mercy noticed them at that moment.

"Say, what's that you got there, Mr Milton?" she asked, pointing at the book.

George looked under his hands and found the drawings. He shuffled them away. His eyes stayed on the ground. Shuffling his feet slightly, he cahnged the subject. "What's a nice girl like you heading to town for anyway?"

"I'm staying with my ol' friend, is all. Her name's Susy. Know 'er?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I know Susy," George nodded. He turned on the ball of his heel. "If you wanna get some sleep, Miss Mercy, I suggest you come with me."

"Is... What I mean to say is, Mr, is it safe?" Mercy aske, hesitating a mere second.

"Coarse. Why wouldn' it be?" George asked, watching the dirt track, his eyes not straying far from his own boot covered feet.

"I dunno. Maybe you'll rape me or somethin'," Mercy said, her eyes narrowing.

"You coming or not?" George sighed, looking up at her. What Mercy saw in those eyes was pain and just south of solitude.

"Sure I'm coming. It ain' safe for a girl out all on her lonesome," Mercy shrugged and kicked the dirt track with her foot.

About a quarter of a mile down that dirt track, silent as ghosts, George and Mercy came to the old ranch. Curley watched as they drew closer from the posts of the old, sun-dried fence. His face crumpled into anger. He jogged over to George.

"Hey! Hey!" he called. He stopped as George came through the entrance. "Who's the girl?"

"Traveller. Wants to lodge for the night, Curley. She's gonna stay with Susy for a while," george explained.

"What you bringing her here for?"

"She's tired, Curley. Now go put more vaseline on your han' will you," George said gruffly. Curley stanced for a fight but Mercy came from behind and punched him in the jaw. Surprised, Curley turned to see her.

"What? You gotta glass jaw, Curley? Or are you a-scared of gettin' your ass han'ed to you on a plate by a woman?" Mercy growled, her hands up close to her body. She glared at him. "You chicken, Shrimp?"

Curley's eyes clouded over and his eyes roved over her, taking in the skiny frame that shadowed through the light.

"No, Miss," Curley murmured.

"Then where's the boss at?" Mercy demanded, steping closer to the man, her guard still up, close to her chest, her elbows out, ready to hit him. Wordlessly, Curley pointed towards the house.


	2. Chapter 2

Mercy looked around the room at Susy's. Her job was to direct the men that visited. Or at least, it was for now. It was Saturday and the men from the surrounding ranches began to trickle in. Soon she saw familiar faces. The men from Tyler Ranch.

"Hello, Miss Mercy!" Curley called out.

"Hiya, Shrimp," Mercy replied as he walked in, the ranch-hands behind him. Mercy greeted each one. "Hello Slim, Whit, Carlson. Hello George! How y' all doin'?"

"Fine, Miss Mercy," Slime replied, grinning at her.

"Good," Mercy smiled at them.

"How about you an' me in one of Susy's rooms?" Curley suggested. Mercy surveyed him, picking out imperfections and finally her eyes rested on his gloved hand.

"I'd rather go with George, Curley. But thank you for the offer," Mercy smiled innocently, rolling her eyes.

George spluttered. "What!"

"You heard. I'd rather go flop with you, George, than Curley here," Mercy explained.

"I'd take that offer if I was you, George," Slim told his friend.

"But-but... but..." George seemed at a loss for words. Mercy smiled and approached him. Whispering something in his ear, she led him towards a door.

"Just pretend," she told him.

x-x-x-x-x

George's first born son was named Lennie. His daughter was named Amelia by their mother, Mercy.

The land that Mercy and George had bought when they'd first gotten married was now a ranch. With a patch of alfafa, rabbits in hutches, pigs in a pen, chickens in coops, cows in a barn, three goats on a grazing field, an orchard of apples, raspberries, cherries, blackberries. And in that patch that would always be empty for the farmer, George would be, happy with his life. Dream Ranch was, indeed, Lennie's dream come true.


End file.
